


as long as amber of ember glows (all that I've loved is long ago)

by notsurewhatshappening (uuuhhhhmmmm)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Not quite sure what this is, Pining, Self-Indulgent, bare with me I guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:54:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24924970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uuuhhhhmmmm/pseuds/notsurewhatshappening
Summary: “I am getting conflicting responses to to initial data surveys.” Karen tells her, and her brows knit.“What do you mean?” She asks quietly, pulling her hoodie a little closer. The streets of Gotham are not friendly to the unprepared.“According to public record, Jason Todd died four and a half years ago, but according to a biometric scan, he is four blocks from your current location, in apartment 122 C.”“And there is no chance that it’s not him?”“There is a one in 16 billion chance that it is not him.” Karen responds, her voice cold and clerical. She winces.“Okay, directions then, please.”This is kind of a crossover between the MCU and the DCU? Reader is snapped into the DC universe along with Peter, and discovers her soulmate is Jason Todd. Desperate to get back to help her friends, they manage to get back, only to be returned to the exact time of the snap and get dusted along with everyone else.
Relationships: Jason Todd/Reader
Comments: 17
Kudos: 82





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is completely self indulgent and honestly kind of a mess, but that's alright

“I am getting conflicting responses to to initial data surveys.” Karen tells her, and her brows knit. 

“What do you mean?” She asks quietly, pulling her hoodie a little closer. The streets of Gotham are not friendly to the unprepared. 

“According to public record, Jason Todd died four and a half years ago, but according to a biometric scan, he is four blocks from your current location, in apartment 122 C.” 

“And there is no chance that it’s not him?”

“There is a one in 16 billion chance that it is not him.” Karen responds, her voice cold and clerical. She winces. 

“Okay, directions then, please.” 

It doesn’t take her long to get there, excitement thrumming in her bones. She is going to see Jason again. The words on her collarbone are a fluorescent green, so he has to be alive, his death certificate just a ruse, something to throw people off. Maybe it is because _she_ had died that the colour changed. 

She stands in front of 122 C, and grins, knocking three times. 

The wind is knocked out of her when a woman answers the door. She’s wearing nothing but a teeshirt and underwear, and she looks comfortable, a bowl of something that smells delicious in her hand. Her heart drops. The woman is beautiful. Tall and curvy, with dark skin and curly red hair that drops all the way down her back. 

“Hi,” the woman says. She even sounds beautiful. 

“Can I help you?” 

“Who is it, Kori?” Comes a voice from behind her that she recognizes instantly. Jason. Jason, and this woman…? Her heart thuds in her chest. She’d been so fucking _stupid_. How long had she been dead? 5 years? Why had she thought that Jason would wait for her? His words had probably turned grey. He’s probably moved on. He’s probably happy that he gets to choose someone, especially someone who looked like Kori, rather than fate telling him that _she_ had to mean something to him. 

“Sorry," she says quickly. 

“I’ve just realized I’ve got the wrong address. I’m supposed to knock on that one," she tells the women, gesturing a door over. Kori smiles at her. 

“No problem. The numbering in these apartments is so strange,” Kori says, and she nods empathically, stepping out of the doorway. Kori closes the door behind her, and she sinks to the ground, listening. 

“Just some girl with the wrong address,” Kori replies. She hears her walk back over to him, hears her set down the bowl. 

“Where were we?” Kori asks.

“Well, I fed you the best chilli on the eastern seaboard, and you were about to reward me for my efforts,” Jason says breezily. 

She wants to puke. She’s slipping out of the building before she can hear any more of their conversation, her insides twisting painfully. She’s so fucking stupid. People’s soulmates die all the time. It’s not like those people don’t move on. She doesn’t know why she hadn’t expected it. She had thought, what? That Jason is _different_? That he doesn’t deserve someone to love him if it isn’t her? God, she’s selfish. 

She breaks out into a sprint. She needs to get away from that apartment. She needs to get away from him. She runs blindly, hopping over trashcans and taking turns at random. She hates how much energy she has. She hates her power. The electricity under her skin doesn’t go away when she finally slows to a stop. She climbs up the first building she sees. She knows this part of Gotham. It’s nicer than most parts, but still Gotham. 

She pushes the door open to the roof, and sits on the edge, legs swinging out over Gotham. It makes her feel better, somehow. Being up high. The city glows, and reminds her strangely of New York, despite the change in architecture, and the lazy fog that always seems to blanket the city. It’s calming, the lights still being on at this hour, and it makes her think of a constellation, except instead of the emptiness of the cosmos, it’s made of people. Bitterly, she wonders how many of them have found their soulmates. How many of them are happy with them.

“What are you doing up here?” Asks a voice from behind her. She turns, blinking. It’s a child. He’s wearing the Robin costume. She doesn’t know why this surprises her either. Dick had moved on from being Robin, why wouldn’t Jason? The thought makes her chest ache again. Jason has moved on from a lot of things, it seems. 

“Thinking,” she replies, looking back out over Gotham. 

“You can’t think at home?” Asks this Robin, and she looks at him, amused. He’s prickly. Reminds her of Jason, a little. She hates it. 

“I’m not sure where it is, anymore," she says honestly. He sits down beside her. 

“Where did it used to be?” He asks, his voice a little more gentle. She can tell it’s forced, probably Bruce training him to stop people from jumping off buildings. This is a child that is unused to being caring. She can’t blame him. Children aren’t good with emotions. Too young, still feel things too deeply. 

“A person, not a place.” She replies, staring back out over Gotham. There’s nothing keeping her here, she knows. She had come back for Jason, and he’s— well, there isn’t exactly a reason for her to have come back anymore. 

“I found my soulmate when I was fifteen. He was thirteen at the time,” she tells him. He doesn’t say anything, so she continues. “But I had to go away for a while. Some friends were in trouble, and needed my help.” 

“Why couldn’t you bring him along?” Asks Robin, and the curiosity in his voice is genuine this time. She shrugs. 

“It felt like my problem.”

“Aren’t your soulmate’s problems your problems?” He asks, and she looks down at him.

“I guess. I don’t know. I can’t change it now, anyway. I was gone for longer than I thought I would be. I couldn’t come back.” She adds, looking back out over Gotham. 

“But now you are back,” he guesses, and she nods her head. 

“I went by his place. There’s another girl there now. She’s real pretty,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“Your soulmate sounds like a jerk,” he tells her, his voice haughty, and she smiles ruefully. 

“Maybe he is, now. I wouldn’t know. I think I’d love him anyway,” she replies, and tucks her legs up to her chin. 

“I didn’t talk to him,” she tells him, because she needs to tell someone. She was probably ten feet away from him and she hadn’t talked to him. 

“Why not?” He asks, touch incredulous now. 

“I’m a coward,” she says, shooting him a grin. He doesn’t say anything, watching her from behind the blank eyes of the domino mask. She sobers. 

“I think it would be wrong, to see him again,” she says, small, and it comes out almost a question without her meaning it to. She’s not asking Robin, not really. It’s something she can’t help but think. Should she just go back to Bucky? He has his own issues that he’s dealing with, though, things that he won’t want her hanging around for. Peter is grieving, as is Clint. She has nowhere to go where she won’t be imposing. 

“Why would it be wrong?” 

“I was gone a while. I don’t think it would be fair, to him, to come back and expect things to be the same,” she murmurs, lost in thought. “I don’t know why I didn’t think things would be different.”

“It would be selfish, to make him choose. To compromise a relationship he’s happy in because I want him for myself," she says with finality. She knows deep down that she just wouldn’t be able to handle the inevitable rejection. Nobody in their right mind would choose her over Kori. 

“So what are you going to do?” Robin asks, and she shrugs. 

“Let the past die, I guess.” 

“I mean where are you going to go?” 

“I’ve got the whole world, haven’t I?” She replies, a little smile on her face at the prospect. She’s fairly certain the last time she’d been to Italy, there’d been a war going on. She could go back to her dimension, maybe tour through Europe. She has the money for it. She gets up, patting Robin on the shoulder. 

“But I’ll probably stick around for a few days. There are a few people I should say goodbye to,” she adds, and then hesitates at the door. 

“Thanks, Robin,” she says, giving him a soft smile.

She ducks out, grabs takeout and winds her way back through the city to a hotel. She forces herself to eat, slow and methodic. As soon as she’s in the shower, she lets herself break down. Jason found someone else. It’s unfair of her to have expected otherwise, but it still makes her feel like crawling into a hole and dying. She claws at the words on her collarbone, wishing that she could force them away. Ugly sobs wrench out of her chest, and she can’t stop them, even as she’s curled in on herself underneath the covers. She’s never felt more alone her life. She can’t remember the last time she had slept in a bed without sharing it with anybody. 

Desperately, she wants someone, but doesn’t know who. Bucky has Sam, now. Clint has a whole family that Wanda’s a part of somehow, Peter has May, and Steve fucked off to the past, leaving her with nobody. A terrible feeling, one that tells her she is always going to be alone, creeps its way into her chest. She trembles. 

If Jason can find somebody, so can she, she tells herself. The knowledge that it isn’t the same, because Jason had been raised in this time period, he could make friends, he could be likeable, gnaws at her stomach. 

She cries herself to sleep. 

The next day is a Sunday. She, Jason, Peter, Dick, and Barbara had once had a ritual for Sundays. They would go to a diner about a ten minute walk from her hotel and have breakfast. She would always get the french toast, and Jason would always get the waffles, and they would share. She should go. She tells herself that it’s a way to say goodbye, a final bowing out that she hadn’t gotten before she died, but she knows she’s going to torture herself with memories of times she can never have back. 

It’s earlier than they would usually go, the sun hasn’t yet risen when she leaves her hotel. She sits at their usual booth, and gets one order of french toast, and a cup of earl grey. The waitress that serves her, Dottie, is still the same, and she stares at her with wide eyes. She supposes it must be strange for the old women. It’s been five years, and she hasn’t aged a day. Dottie doesn’t mention it, but also doesn’t look surprised when she orders the french toast, either. She doesn’t bother trying to unpack that. 

Instead, she reads up on the Wayne family. They’ve expanded. The one she’d met yesterday must have been Damian Wayne, the youngest and only blood relation to Bruce Wayne. She finishes the one slice of french toast, but can’t bring herself to eat the other one. Dottie takes the plate away without comment, filling her mug back up with tea. 

She stares out the window. It’s started raining. For her, it’s been just over a week since she’d last been in this diner. She tries to imagine herself back how it was, but the image can’t quite form. The flower shop across the street is now a shoe repair shop, and they’ve added traffic lights. 

Dottie comes back, and puts one waffle with whipped cream and strawberries on the table. 

“I didn’t order this,” she says quietly, the words catching in her throat. 

“It’s on the house, sweetheart,” Dottie tells her. She looks up at the waitress, whose salt and pepper hair had gone mostly white now. 

“Thank you," she says, and she knows that her own eyes have a glossy sheen to them. She looks away. 

“‘Course,” Dottie replies, and squeezes her shoulder on the way out. 

Dottie lets her take her time, sipping on earl grey as the city wakes up slowly. She isn’t sure how long she’s been sitting in the booth, but the diner slowly starts to fill out as the rain peters out into a dull fog. The bell chiming again catches her attention, and she looks up at the people who’ve just entered. Wayne kids have kept their tradition, even if none of the original diner members are present. They spot her sitting in what must be their booth as well, and one of them asks Dottie how long she thinks the wait will be. 

“I was actually just leaving,” she says kindly, leaving (probably her fifth or sixth) cup of tea half finished as she slides out of the booth. She places two hundred dollar bills underneath her cup. 

“Great! Thanks,” says the one closest to her. Tim Drake, she remembers reading. 

Four of the Wayne kids scramble into the booth, leaving little Damian Wayne staring at her. She meets his gaze for a brief moment before looking back up to Dottie, who’s staring at the two hundreds in her hand. 

“I’ll see you next week?” Asks Dottie, though she already knows the answer. 

“No, I’m headed out of town, actually. Thanks for everything, Dottie,” she says quietly, and can feel Damian’s eyes on her as she slips out of the diner and back into the gloom of Gotham. 

The next thing she does is go to the bakery across the street to buy two croissants, stuffing them into the pocket of her sweater for later. She wanders around Gotham, unsure what to do with herself. The city feels strange to her, foreign but familiar. Like it’s from a dream, almost the same, but something not quite right about it. 

She ends up visiting all the places that her and Jason used to frequent. The park on the lower east side that had foxes, and if you sat for long enough, maybe even a deer. The library with the nice awning on the roof. She passes by the vintage store that Dick used to take her to and tease her about her age. It’s going out of business. She stops, staring at it. Nothing is the same, and yet so much is. 

It’s luck, or fate, or the universe’s way of screwing her over for the millionth time in her very long life, that Kori is walking on the other side of the street with a very tall man that must be Jason.

He is different. Taller, broader. He had been shorter than her when they’d first met, but he’d hit a growth spurt and was a good three inches taller than her by the time she’d left, much to his delight. He’d grown about another foot since then, and gained probably fifty pounds worth of muscle. Gone is the lanky fifteen-year-old he’d been when she last saw him. It suits him, she can’t help but think. She can’t see his face, obscured by a red hood that’s covering his hair, too. She hadn’t meant to stare, but he must sense her looking, because he turns, and his piercing gaze lands on her. 

The world around them seems to slow as she looks directly back at him. His face is a little shadowed by the hood, but she can see that the smattering of sun freckles is still there, as are his boyishly handsome features. He’s beautiful. He jerks to a stop, lips parting in surprise. 

A truck whistles by, and she uses its’ cover to disappear. Jason is still stopped, openmouthed, staring at where she is standing, now invisible. Kori says something, and Jason waves her off. She watches as Kori shrugs and melts back into the foot traffic of the sidewalk. 

Jason crosses the street, and she retreats into the mouth of a nearby alley to watch him. 

“Y/N?” He asks the open air, eyes searching the empty space around him. 

She hesitates briefly, wondering if it’s better or worse to come out now. She decides her heart is already in tatters, what’s one more rejection to top it all off? Besides, he’s already seen her. 

“Hey,” she says quietly, reappearing. 

He whirls around to face her, eyes wide. 

“Hey,” he says breathlessly. 

She looks away from him, the sight of his face too much for her. She steels herself, biting the inside of her cheek. It’s a habit she’s developed since being out of H.Y.D.R.A, one that would have gotten her whipped if she was still there. She only ever did it around Jason, when something was worrying her. She stops. 

“It’s good to see you, Jason,” she says, glancing back at him. She doesn’t bother calling him a nickname, something feeling wrong about the fact that Kori probably called him those nicknames now. 

He laughs bitterly. The sound surprises her, unnatural coming from Jason’s mouth. 

“Really? Because you can’t even fucking _look at me—_ “ he says, striding towards her. She freezes. 

“Sorry,” she says, barely above a whisper. “You’re just— different. Everything is different.” 

Her eyes dart back to the closing vintage store across the street. She can feel him following her gaze, and watches his posture soften out of the corner of her eye. He backs off. It occurs to her, strangely, that his eyes are the wrong colour. They'd been a pretty blue-green before she'd left ( _died_ , she hadn't left, she'd _died_ ), and are now an vibrant acid green that seem to glow through the smog of Gotham. 

“How long has it been for you?” He asks, voice quiet. Resigned. 

“Six days.” 

“Sorry,” he says, and that doesn’t sound right either. Jason rarely apologizes. They used to joke he got it from Bruce. Or maybe the Jason that she knew rarely apologized. This Jason might apologize for things that aren’t his fault, like the passage of time. Her death. 

She shrugs. 

“Time has always been different for me. I’ve adjusted before. I’ll adjust again,” she tells him dispassionately. She can feel him looking at her, but she keeps her eyes firmly on the store across the street. 

“Do you want to grab a coffee?” 

She looks over at him now, drinking him in. His hair has a little loop of white that fell into the rest of his messy curls. It’s new. She likes it. Jason’s words to Kori, gentle and teasing, ring in her ears as she studies at him. 

“No, I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she says softly. She has to try very hard not to read his posture or his face, to keep her eyes focused on the fraying edge of his hoodie. 

“Right,” he says, after a pause that leaves a novel of words unsaid between them. 

“You should say hello to Dick. He misses you,” Jason adds. 

“Yeah, sure,” she says. There’s nothing left for either of them to say. 

“Bye, Jason,” she says, turning away from him to leave.

“Are you staying in town for a little while?” Jason asks, shuffling toward her, and she stops, turning to look back at him. She wonders if he can see the hurt on her face, or if she is as unknowable as H.Y.D.R.A taught her to be.

“I should probably head home. I just wanted to let you know…” 

Jason laughs, just as deeply bitter as the first time. 

“What? That you’re alive and well? We share the fucking tattoo,” he snaps, and she examines his face carefully. There is something harsher about this Jason, as well. He’s rougher around the edges, not quite the boy she’d met anymore. 

She doesn’t respond, looking away from him. Not the soul mark, not the words, the tattoo. Like it’s a choice to have her branded to his skin. Her heart burns. What the fuck is she supposed to say to that? _Actually, I came back to kiss you full on the mouth, but you’re fucking another girl, so I can’t really do that anymore_. 

“I don’t know,” she says instead. 

“So, what? You’re just going to leave?” He asks, voice strained. 

She stares at him. She hates him, suddenly and entirely. He wants her to what? Stay and watch him grow old with someone else? Why? Because he can’t stand the thought of not having her in his life, but he also can’t love her? 

“There’s nothing for me here,” she says flatly, turning on her heel and leaving him on the sidewalk, tears burning behind his eyes. She's sorry she came back. She’s sorry she’s even alive at all, and she's ruined Jason’s chance at a perfect life with Kori, and she’s sorry that she’s even his soulmate in the first place. 

She sulks as she takes the bus to Blüdhaven, eating her croissants on the way there. She wonders absently if it’s a bad idea to see Dick, but she’s already on the bus, and Dick is nice. A little bit much at times, but she could use a little bit much right now. 

“Karen, can you find Dick Grayson for me?” She asks, and follows the A.I’s detached voice to his apartment. This time she hesitates, steeling herself. She can do this. Ja— _He_ had mentioned that Dick wanted to see her. He missed her. She knocks three times. 

Dick wrenches open the door after a couple moments. She stares at him, and he stares at her. 

“Hey,” she says, not knowing what else to say. 

“Holy shit,” he says, and hauls her into a hug. 

“How’re you— You know what, never mind. I’m just happy to see you,” Dick says, setting her down inside his apartment. There’s a choked feeling in her throat. Why is it so much easier with Dick? He kisses her forehead, beaming at her. 

“Have you seen Jason yet?” He asks, and she looks away. She can’t seem to look anyone in the eye. His question makes her frown, though. She had known that there wasn’t necessarily any love lost between Jason and Dick when she’d first arrived, but she’d thought that they’d at least been friends by the time she’d left. She’d have thought he would have at least warned Dick that she was coming. Perhaps that’s another thing that’s changed. She’s starting to lose track. 

“Yeah, I went by his place. He uh— he had a girl over. I think she lives there.” 

“Oh, kiddo.” He says gently, cupping her face. 

She tugs her face out of his hold. 

“He deserves to be happy.” She says, but she can feel tears brimming in her eyes. 

“Com’ere.” He whispers, pulling her into a hug. She lets herself cry, clutching at his back as he tugs her into the kitchen. 

“I just— I feel so stupid.” She hiccups out through her sobs. 

“You’re not. You’re not stupid.” 

“I am! I thought I’d come back and things would be back to normal like I hadn’t been fucking dead for five years. I was _dead_ , Dick. Of course he moved on! I’m nothing but a fucking screw up and she looks like she’s off the cover of fucking Vogue and I thought— I thought—“ She cries, her voice strangled. 

“Oh, dear.” He says, smoothing a hand over her hair. 

“Sorry.” She says abruptly, pulling away from him. She wipes her eyes, sniffling, stuffing her emotions back into the little box in her chest. Her outburst was unprofessional and embarrassing. H.Y.D.R.A assets don’t cry, and they certainly don’t cry in front of other people. When she’d first learned about him, that was excusable— a one off. This is entirely too much. 

“It’s okay. I think Bruce would be really happy to see you. Do you want to drive to the manor? We can eat there.” 

She looks up at him before scrubbing her face, nodding. 

“Yeah, okay,” she says softly.

The words on Dick’s forearm catch her attention as she gets into the car. They’re a fiery orange. 

“You’ve met them?” She asks, nodding to his arm as he starts the car. 

“Yeah. We don’t have to talk about it—“

“I want to know. Tell me about them,” she cuts him off. Dick brightens, and starts to prattle on about Wally West. 

He keeps a constant stream of chatter going, and she’s thankful for it as she watches the world blur past, the sun setting in the distance. She only has to ask one or two questions, and he doesn’t expect her to talk as they drive the whole way to the manor. 

She’s nervous again, as she goes up to the door. 

The thought of having to sit down across from Bruce, having to answer, again, if she’s seen Jason yet makes tears sit just behind her eyes. She stumbles away from the door like it’s burned her, turning back and darting down the path, disappearing on instinct. 

“I can’t do this.” She whispers, hunching over. 

Dick walks toward her voice, eyes soft. 

“Sure you can, kiddo.”

“I thought I could, but, I— everything is different. I want to go home,” she whimpers. She’s going to cry again, she knows, because home doesn’t exist anymore. 

“I want to go home,” she says, voice raising, “but it doesn’t fucking exist anymore! I hate it here! It’s not— haven’t I paid enough for what I’ve done?” She asks, her voice going back to barely above a whisper, her tears obvious in her voice. She’s crying again.

“You’re not— you’re paying any sort of cosmic price,” Dick says, crouching, eyes looking into the space where her voice is coming from. She wishes her power could make her more than just invisible. She wants to disappear for real. She wants to be nothing more than a myth again, a ghost story trainee S.H.I.E.L.D were told as a warning to listen to their commanding officer. _Follow orders, otherwise the Nomad will get you_.

“What happened to you, you didn’t deserve it. You’re a good person,” he tells her softly.

“Sometimes, bad things just happen.” 

Fire lights in her chest at his words, her sadness replaced just as quickly with anger. She hates everything. Thanos, H.Y.D.R.A, Jason, Steve, all of it. Abruptly, she wants to burn the whole world to hell. 

“You think I don’t know that?” She snarls, reappearing, her face inches from his. 

“I spent my entire childhood at a fucking Nazi training ground for freaks, learning to kill people. I killed both of my parents because my mind had been so fucked with that I didn’t recognize either of them. I don’t even remember doing it and I only ever found out because every single fucked up thing I’ve ever done was released to the public.” She’s yelling now, but she’s beyond caring anymore. 

“I’m missing over 70 years worth of memories, and my mind has been destroyed and overwritten so many times that when I see things in my dreams I have to google whether or not it’s a memory. Every single one of the girls I grew up with is dead now, and I know that the only form of torture I can’t withstand is waterboarding, because I kept _those_ memories.” 

“I have codes implanted in my brain that override all of my free will and I fucked grown men when I was thirteen for information about wars I didn’t understand. My entire life has been bad things, Dick!” She shouts, and he flinches. She had never talked about her time with H.Y.D.R.A before, not even with Jason. 

“And now I don’t even have the one good thing that I’ve ever had in my entire life,” she cries, fists clenching and unclenching. 

Her chest is heaving, and something on Dick’s face looks shattered. 

“You— you never told me that,” he whispers. 

She glances up at him, sitting back down with a dull thud. She’s not mad at him, not really. 

“I made Steve promise that if he ever thought they were going to take me back, that he would kill me.” She curls further in on herself, waiting for him to leave. He doesn’t, and she hears him sit down across from her. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I’m not mad at you. You’ve never been anything but kind to me.” 

“It’s okay. You’re the strongest person I know, you know that? To have gone through everything you have, and to come out of it _kind_? You’ll get through this, too. But this time you don’t have to do it alone,” he whispers. 

“Would it help if I just got Bruce? If we went somewhere else to eat? Maybe we could go to Maria’s, and get Babs on the way over?” He asks. 

“I— you would do that?” She asks, looking up at him with wide eyes. 

“Of course I would.” 

“Yeah, yeah— okay.”


	2. long ago.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback to how reader and Jason meet :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this is so late lol I'll try to get to a more consistent posting schedule :(

7 Years Earlier (2 depending on how you look at it) 

She sits up, blinking. This isn’t right. No, this is all wrong. She had been sure that she was dying. She had felt herself dissolve, felt her hands crumble into dust. She had seen the anguish on Steve’s face when she called his name, her voice trembling. But she’s sitting here, in a damp field in the middle of the night. Trees cast deep shadows over the grass, and a stream gurgles behind her. In the distance, a path is lit in soft yellow tones, pavement glittering like an oil slick. 

Her mind reels. They had _lost_. Where is she? She gets to her feet, checking herself over for injuries, and finds that she’s miraculously okay. She’s suited up, and she looks around again, hoping that no one had seen her sudden appearance, and finds herself alone. With nothing else to do, she disappears, chooses a direction, and begins to walk. 

It doesn’t take her long to get out of the park, and she looks up at the buildings that surround her on either side. If she didn’t know better, she would have assumed that the city is New York, and that she had woken up in central park, but she knows better than to assume anything, and she can’t see Stark Tower at all. She decides that there is no point in trying to call anyone, not that she has a phone anyway, and instead falls back on surviving. 

She can figure out what had happened later. Right now, she will do what she had been trained to do in a new city. She takes a mental inventory. 

She has no idea where she is or how she had gotten here. She does have her suit, her knives, and her powers seem fine. She has worked with less, though usually she also has Bucky, even just as backup. She is fine to operate on limited intel in a new place. Maybe if she’s here, so are the others? She can’t count on them, though, because she doesn’t quite know how she had ended up here in the first place. 

Orders. She always works better with an objective in mind. 

Mission Objective: get back to Steve. 

She is going to find out where she is, find clothes, find food, find a place to sleep, and then she is going to figure out what is going on, and how to fix it. 

She finds a news stand, which proves to be useful. Her mouth forms the name of the city silently. Gotham. She’s never heard of the city, and she’s heard of every city. She’s plucked a hotdog from a stand near her when she spots a clothing store across the street. At least one thing is going her way. She dodges through traffic easily, hopping onto the roof in a few simple jumps. She sits atop the store, using her new vantage point to look over the street as she eats. 

It’s a strange sort of city, gloomy, a thick smog settling around the tops of buildings, shrouding them in darkness. Upon reflection, she can’t believe she ever compared it to New York. It has the bustle, sure, but New York always seems— bright almost, always glittering (like one of Stark’s shiny new toys). Gotham is completely the opposite. Even the architecture is eerie, with its gothic outlines against the night sky. 

It’s an assassin’s paradise. 

It will be so easy to disappear here. She doesn’t want to disappear, she reminds herself. She wants to get back to Steve. She needs to get back to Steve. 

Picking the lock is easy, as is dropping into the store. She snatches a couple of pairs of pants and some sweaters from the racks, finding a sturdy looking backpack to hold her uniform, as well as the rest of the stuff she’d taken. She gets changed, hoping she looks decently normal in her outfit. She doesn’t want to stand out here. At least not until she knows what’s going on. This could be some sort of trick of Thanos’ or Loki, or she could actually be dead. 

She should find a library. Figure out where she is at the very least. Gotham is not exactly a very a helpful piece of information. It’s definitely in the U.S.A (which is unfortunate, seeing as she’s had just about enough of the U.S government for two lifetimes), but outside of that, she knows nothing about the city. The building is equally as easy to break out of, and a little bit of hopelessness sneaks up on her as she looks out over the city. It’s massive, and she hasn’t got the faintest clue of where to even start looking for a library, let alone answers. She takes a breath.

One thing at a time. Go to the library now, and start small. She really only needs one lead at least try to start to figure out the rest. Besides, it’s not exactly like she’s short on time. 

She drops back down to ground level, reappearing to search out a map, and finds one posted next to an intricate bus system. It’s dirty, the glass is so smudged that the writing can barely be made out, not to mention a number of people had drawn all over it, one lucky soul signed A.B circling the spot where they ‘got railed’. Gotham seems to be in New Jersey, based on the surrounding geography, so she’s fairly close to New York, which seems to be not quite the culture hub she's used to. Perhaps she's in the future? The date on the newspaper had been correct, though. Something else is going on.

Gotham City Library is on the opposite side of town to where she currently is. The fastest route goes through a part of town which has Crime Alley scribbled over the glass. That’s definitely sketchy, but ex. H.Y.D.R.A don’t scare easy, so she sets off in that direction anyway. 

When she gets to the seedier part of town, rats crawling right overtop of her very visible shoes, and strange men lurking in corners shouting lewd things at her, she disappears, imagining it better to keep a low profile. She hops up a few fire escapes, back onto rooftops of buildings squeezed next to each other, apartments with laundry lines running between them, and businesses with roofs littered with cigarettes from off duty employees. Rooftops are better for avoiding people— even if she’s invisible, people usually found it strange to bump into a solid area of what looked to be air.

There’s a cry off to her left. She looks in the direction of the library, frowning, and then back toward the noise. She’s supposed to keep a low profile. She has her mission. Figure out what’s going on, and get back to Steve. It’s unprofessional and illogical to go off mission for someone who probably won’t even thank her for helping them. If she was at H.Y.D.R.A, they would have sent her back to be reconditioned for even hesitating at the noise. 

That thought alone makes the decision for her, and she turns on her heel, bounding over rooftops toward the sound. She’s a moment too late, because there are already two people on the scene. 

She sits back on her haunches, watching them arc back into the sky, leaving the woman who’s made it safely back to her car. 

The girl is in black and yellow and is a little older than her with red hair. She moves like she’s been trained, but is still a little unsure about being up high— she’s new to this, but determined. The boy in blue cuts through the air like a gymnast. He’s clearly comfortable swinging between buildings, and is a bit of a showoff, if she had to take a guess at his personality. He adds flips and spins that expend unnecessary energy, but even from where she’s perched, she can hear his laughter ring as he flies. 

She doesn’t know them. She needs more intel. The library can wait, whoever these people are, they seem to know the city, and they most likely know more about however she had gotten here than a public computer system would, judging by the high grade kevlar the girl is wearing. 

She creeps after them, but someone else catches her eye. A boy a couple years younger than her, dressed in colours that are far too bright to be trying to sneak around in— red, green, yellow. She turns, watching him instead. There’s a taller man standing beside him, and where the boy in yellow watches the gymnast and the girl, the man in black turns away, jerking his head as though to call the yellow boy over. She pauses, debating. The man in black looks older, and is probably in charge. If she’s going to ask anyone for help, it would be him. 

She follows them, always invisible, always out of hearing distance even for her, which is how she’s sure that they won’t be able to hear her footsteps. After a little while, she figures circling nearer is safe. They seem to be the good guys of Gotham, and remind her slightly of New York’s Daredevil. She can’t quite make out pattern to their movements. They seem to be following some sort of circuit, but every once and a while, they’ll deviate from the expected route, and take off to stop some crime or another. 

She watches from a building away as they stop a bank robbery, and then immediately after save a women from being mugged. They’re a strange duo. She moves close enough to hear them talk, expecting that they’ll have some sort of running commentary, the way Tony liked to keep. They don’t. The boy must be in some sort of trouble, because he’s sulking, and he scowls whenever the man beckons him, but does as he’s told anyway. 

She gets too comfortable, watching them from the shadows. She moves too close, close enough that if she sprung forward, she could touch the boy. 

“Who’s there?” Growls the man, and she licks her teeth, thinking this through. The weapons they have are strange, but they’re definitely high tech. Not Stark tech, but not a lot of things are. If he can help, then he can help. If he can’t, she’s studied the way the two of them fight, the way they play off of each other, the moves they use. She’s fairly confident she can take them. 

“You have very sharp senses,” she compliments the man, appearing from behind the roof’s exit. It had taken him half the night to realize she had been following him, but it’s impressive that he had realized at all. 

“How long were you following us?” The boy at his side asks, and she freezes, the words on her collarbone burning. 

There’s no way— it’s not possible that— holy shit.

The boy stops too, seeming to realize exactly what had just happened. 

“You’re my— do you have my words?” He asks, and she blinks, nodding slowly, still trying to process. She shakes her head to clear it. 

“That’s not— that’s not possible,” she whispers, staring at him.

“Why not?” The boy snaps. 

“Soulmates are for people with souls,” she says, like it’s obvious. 

“Why wouldn’t you have a soul?” 

“I—“ she starts to say, and then pauses, frowning. She doesn’t know. That’s what H.Y.D.R.A had told her. They had said that soulmates are a weakness, and are for real people. She is not a real person. She’s a weapon. H.Y.D.R.A has been wrong about a lot of things though. Not just a lot of things. H.Y.D.R.A has been wrong about _everything_. 

“I don’t know,” she replies, studying the boy in front of her. This isn’t good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!!


	3. the present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in the present, reader greets Bruce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somehow absolutely nothing happens in this chapter :-)

Dick disappears into the house, and her emotions leave her in a rush. She doesn’t feel sad, or angry, or even nervous anymore. Just tired. 

The door stays closed though, for a while, and there’s nothing but her and the still night air, smelling of Mr. Pennyworth’s magnolia’s and rain. It’s a comforting smell. There’s the light scent of lemon in the air too, but it also might just be wishful thinking on her part. Behind the manor, hidden out of view, there’s a greenhouse surrounded by flowers, where Mr. Pennyworth plants (or maybe used to plant, now) fruits and vegetables, with a lemon tree that stretches out from the centre. She and Jason used to collect the lemons for Mr. Pennyworth’s lemon meringue pie. She has the illogical urge to check if it’s still there. Of course it is. It’s only been five years— that greenhouse had been here long before she had come to the manor, and it will be here long after she leaves. If there’s one thing to expect from Mr. Pennyworth, it’s consistency. 

The manor’s backyard is etched so securely in her mind, that she’s sure if it’s any different, she’ll lose it again. It’s only been six days since she’d last seen the wide expanse of grass, the collection of big willow trees that open into a sloping forest. There’s a brook, too, at the bottom of the forest hill, and she has a number of fond memories (can you even call them memories if they’re from five months ago? It seems too short a time elapsed to be considered a memory. Then again, what does she know of memory?) trying to teach Jason and Peter balance and control while fighting, using the slippery rocks in the creek as a training ground. It had been mostly unsuccessful, seeing as they had all ended up soaking wet, but it had been fun. 

It’s a strange sort of feeling. On the outside, the manor is untouched, exactly as it is preserved in her memory. It’s false, though, an illusion of permanence, when it’s residents had changed so much. She squashes the thought back down. What’s five years in the grand scheme of things? It’s the equivalent of one university degree plus one year. One high school diploma plus one year. She’s missed more, before. 

They kept her on ice, at H.Y.D.R.A. Her birth certificate reads 1934, so she’s missed entire countries rise and fall (and perhaps been the cause, a puppet master while a puppet herself). She’s missing memories from that time, still— memories she’s not sure if she’ll ever get back. Memories she’s not sure she ever wants back. 

Memories of her childhood are few and far between. Memories of her parents, even less so. They took her from her home so young that they all have a dreamlike quality to them, a haze over the things she’s seeing. The sun is always too bright, the air too cold. She can’t rely on her memories. Her mind cannot always be trusted. 

Mostly, she remembers the training. Siberia had been the only home she had ever known, but it hadn’t quite been a home. Her handler used to call it her _кузнечный горн_. Her forge. He was a short man, one she could have easily killed, if she had known to do it. At the time, she had called him father, and he had called her Pulcinella, a name she later learned belonged to a famous puppet. Her mouth twists, thinking about it. 

Steve had found her after the triskelion went down, and taken her in. At the time, she had assumed it was because of her attachment to the Soldier ( _the man on the bridge, I know him_ , that’s what the Soldier had said), but the longer she stayed with him, the more she realized that Captain Rogers had a penchant for strays. Or at least, that’s what she’d thought. It doesn’t seem like Steve has a penchant for anything but mothballs and dentures, these days. 

It had taken months to shove down the urge to murder Steve every time she saw him, the orders she had been given buzzing around her head like television static, numbing everything else. It had taken also taken her those months for her to even realize she was missing time. Missions, names, and people having been plucked out of her head like weeds, and even more months to do something without being given a direct order, any sense of identity quashed under H.Y.D.R.A’s giant boot. 

She had spent hours sifting through the released H.Y.D.R.A files after what remained of S.H.I.E.L.D had cleared her (with a few of Stark’s drones watching her, of course), looking for anything she could find about herself. There was very little, most of it having been on paper, or locked away in H.Y.D.R.A’s most inner circle. She did find that she had spent some time training at the Red Room in the 70’s, which explains the girls in her memories. Similarly to The Soldier, she also has words— the override, they had called it. 

She heard the whispers, though, she always did. What the S.H.I.E.L.D agents said behind her back as they watched her with keen eyes, waiting for the smallest slip up. She’s a monster— a bedtime story, one wrong move away from snapping and going back to H.Y.D.R.A. She tried to block it out, and Steve was always harsh with his reprimands of anyone who said anything of the sort to her (always insisting that it wasn’t her fault, that she was tortured, brainwashed, that she was only a monster because she had been raised to be one— no, not raised. Forged to be one) and would sometimes even let her come on missions with them. On rare occasions, she would find herself wishing to be back with H.Y.D.R.A, longing for the emptiness that came with it. Emotions are messy, cumbersome. It was easier before she could feel things like shame— or guilt. She would catch herself, though, disgusted, and force herself to watch the tapes of her enhanced interrogation resistance training, or read some of the files of her previous missions. 

There were lawyers, of course— a pro bono company consisting of a blind man from New York (Matt, maybe? She was kept mostly in the dark about the case) and his friend. His argument being that, on a technicality, she is the longest surviving prisoner of war of the second world war. She had argued to Steve (Captain Rogers, she had called him at the time) that technically she’s not a prisoner of war because she had never enlisted. Apparently, being held at a H.Y.D.R.A base is all it took to count. Her case hadn’t been open to the public, Natasha stealing away the spotlight with her press conference so they could debate about what to do with her without public ridicule. 

And just when she had been getting better, when the therapy was helping, when she was figuring out who she was and what she wanted, everything went to shit. Fucking typical. 

The sound of the door opening startles her out of her reverie, Bruce walking with Dick and Mr. Pennyworth down the path. She steps back into the shadows, unsure, listening to Dick talk to Bruce as they approach. 

“So, I know this is going to be crazy to believe, but you’ve gotta trust me, okay? It’s her, B. It is,” Dick asserts, Mr. Pennyworth hot on his heels. They take a bend in the path, nearing her, and she steps forward into view, meeting Bruce’s eyes.

“Bruce,” she greets, clearing her throat. He’s staring at her, hooded eyes carefully guarded, back pin straight. Behind him, Mr. Pennyworth is hovering, a slight smile on his face. In hindsight, it makes sense that Bruce is wary of her reappearance. He had always been a bit paranoid. She hoped it would improve a little with age, but it seems to have gone in the opposite direction. 

Jason clearly hasn’t talked to Bruce either, hasn’t mentioned her reappearance to him. The thought tugs at her chest, crawling it’s way up into her heart. Perhaps he hadn’t said anything because it hadn’t changed anything. Jason is still choosing Kori. Besides, what was it Jason had said? _You should talk to Dick, he misses you_. No mention of Bruce. She shakes the thought loose. Overanalyzing everything Jason said will get her nowhere. Enough caring what he thinks. He doesn’t care, so neither should she. 

“I see you’re still as paranoid as ever,” she cracks, and his mask splinters, his true emotions shining through. He’s happy to see her. He closes the distance between them, clapping a hand on her shoulder wordlessly, clearing his throat as well. 

“You’re looking well,” he tells her, and she smiles a little. At least Bruce is still as careful with his words as he’s ever been. 

“I missed you, too,” she replies, and for a brief second, he looks caught off guard, right before she shoves herself into a hug. Bruce is bad at physical affection, (honestly, all affection, period— he’s stuffy, a little awkward, but she knows he cares, which is really what counts) so when he pats her head, she’s not entirely surprised with his lack of grace. He relaxes after a moment or two, which she chalks up to having some exorbitant amount of children (at some point, he had to have learned how to hug properly, despite how astounding it is he had managed to remain in the dark after raising Dick of all people) and hugs her back. 

“Miss Y/N,” Mr. Pennyworth greets, and she grins at him. She had been right. Mr. Pennyworth is exactly the same as she remembers him.

“Mr. Pennyworth,” she replies, “it’s wonderful to see you again.“ 

“And quite surprising,” he acknowledges, bowing his head slightly, and she scratches the back of her neck.

“You’re telling me,” she jokes. He raises a silent judging brow. 

“I’ve told you, call my Alfred, please,” he corrects, dusting his already spotless pants for imaginary dirt before looking back up at her. 

“I don’t suppose I should make up a room for you, then?” He asks. She looks away, unsure how to answer. The silence lasts a beat too long. 

“No… I don’t think so,” she replies finally, looking back up at Mr. Pennyworth with a little smile. 

“Of course. Should I at least make a dessert? For you, once you’re finished dinner?” He asks imploringly, and she gets the feeling that he would not be taking no for an answer (Peter used to say that Mr. Pennyworth’s love language is food, whatever that means). 

“That would be nice, thank you… Alfred,” she tests the name out, it feeling strange in her mouth. She’s not sure why he is permanently stuck as Mr. Pennyworth, even in her brain, but calling the old butler by his first name had always felt wrong to her. 

“Of course. I’ll see you when you get back.” 

They watch in silence as he marches back up toward the manor. 

“What do you think he’ll make?” Muses Dick, and she looks over at him, her eyebrows quirked. 

“I dunno. Maybe fruit tarts. Or cookies,” she guesses. 

“Do you think he’ll let me take some if they’re the cookies?” 

“Dick!” Bruce scolds, turning toward him, sounding exactly like he always had. 

“What? I’m just saying—“ 

“Don’t,” Bruce interrupts, shaking his head, and despite herself, a grin finds its way onto her face. She sticks her tongue out at Dick from behind Bruce’s back, as he sputters indignantly. 

“So, Maria’s?” Bruce offers, turning to look at her, as she arranges her face into one of innocence, and nods. 

“I suppose there’s a story behind this,” he adds, leading them down the path toward the car, Dick trotting along beside them at her shoulder, still pouting. 

“Oh! I’m sure its a good one. Is Peter doing okay?” Dick asks. She shrugs noncommittally, unsure how to answer. Physically, he’s okay. Emotionally? He just spent two years in another dimension, went back to his dimension only to die and miss five years of his life, and then watched his surrogate father die in front of him. 

“He’s alive, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

She hears both Dick’s and Bruce’s sighs of relief. 

“So, what happened to you? Were you actually… dead?” Asks Dick, as Bruce slides into the drivers seat. She looks over at Dick, where he’s directly next to her, standing right in front of the passenger side door. He looks down at her, but realizes what's happening a moment too late. She rips open the door, slides into the passenger side seat, and has closed the door and locked it before he even has the chance to get shotgun out of his mouth. 

“Come on!” He grumps, getting into the back seat in a huff. 

She exchanges a matching smile with Bruce. Her face falls serious as she remembers the conversation that she has to have now.

“It’s complicated. It might be easier to explain to all three of you at once,” she explains, hoping to stall for time so she can get her story in order. In all honesty, she still doesn’t really understand what had happened. There were some time shenanigans regarding getting the stones, and then she was alive again, but then Thanos was alive again? A comfortable silence settles in the car as she watches Gotham approach. 

“What about you guys? I met the new Robin the other day. He seems… interesting,” she offers. 

“You met Damian?” Asks Dick, leaning in between her and Bruce’s seats. 

“Dick, put your seatbelt on,” Bruce orders, while Dick makes a face, clicking it in place.

“I’m not five,” he grumbles. 

“Then you should know to put your seatbelt on. We’re already halfway to Gotham,” Bruce replies matter of factly. 

She waits for Dick to argue back, to say something along the lines of Bruce not being the boss of him, that he can’t treat him like a child, but Dick doesn’t do anything of the sort, and they move on. She supposes that the arguments that had once seemed commonplace between Bruce and Dick had mostly fizzled out by the time she had left, but it is strange to see how much their relationship had changed in person. 

It’s calmer now, easier. She feels no animosity between them, and gets the feeling that this is what it would have been similar to when Dick had been Robin, except there is no expectation of orders, or anger about being told what to do. 

“Yeah,” she says softly, watching Dick’s face in the half light, “I met him.” 

“How did he do?” 

“Fine. Reminded me of Jay, a little bit. Same hard head,” she tells them, what she can only assume to be Barbara’s house coming into view. She must have moved out of her Dad’s. Bruce pulls over, and she moves to get out, but neither Bruce nor Dick make any move to leave the car. 

“Before we go in,” Bruce says, his voice even more grim than usual, “you should know something.”

Bruce and Dick exchange a loaded glance, one she takes to mean nothing good. 

“Barbara’s… different now. Try not to stare or anything,” Dick cautions. They both climb out of the car, her following after them, trying to steel herself for whatever it is the look between them had meant. She follows them up the stairs, dodging the railing for the ramp beside it. 

“Right, sure. I can do that,” she mutters to herself. 

The doorbell rings, anxiety creeping into her chest. Maybe it’s just a really ugly scar or something. Commissioner Gordon answers the door. She blinks, stepping around Dick, trying to understand. The Commissioner had lived in an apartment, last time she checked. One where the elevator seemed permanently out of service, so she would have to walk all the way up whenever she wanted to see Barbara. 

“Mr. Wayne? Can I help you?”

“I’m actually looking for Barbara,” he explains, as Barbara’s voice floats out the door, “coming! I’m coming I said I would get it, Dad.”

She peaks out from behind Mr. Wayne, trying to see Barbara, giving Commissioner Gordon her best _whoops, sorry I know this is really weird_ smile, who shakes his head. 

“I’m not even going to ask about that,” Gordon says to Bruce, who shrugs. 

Barbara comes into view. No, she doesn’t come into view. She wheels into view. 

“Babs?” She asks, staring at the older woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I cleared up some stuff about readers backstory?? I didn't want to have like a whole chapter just about that cause I thought it might be a little boring to read so I gave a brief sketch of it I guess... I hope it makes sense


End file.
